Bittersweet
by Hirude
Summary: "I got what I wanted. I married him, so why do I still feel like something is missing?" A Two-Shot on the Two Different perspectives of married life. Kind of an implied reader insert.
1. Hers

The day he found me, was the day he met his match.

I am strong. I have always been strong. Be it a blessing or a curse too you, but to me it is merely my reality. The years that have passed since our first encounter at the exam are all blurred now and should you ask, I would not be able to tell you their number. I lost track of how many times we've fought each other a very long time ago. However what I can say, is that he has yet to land a single critical hit, yet to strike a finishing blow. I've won every insignificant battle, every meaningless fight but somehow it seems I've lost the war. I managed to lose my carefully guarded heart, to a man who knows only destruction.

I remember the day so vividly, when he casually asked if I had ever considered becoming Mrs Morow. I can still recall staring at him in absolute shock, my mind staggering to a halt. He never did seem to understand why that question was so bizarre. Especially coming from a man like him. Though I suppose if you pause and look at it from his perspective, it's really not all that odd. 'I'm strong, he's strong, together we'd be super strong.' A simple explanation for a simple man. To this day I still don't know what drove me to say yes to such a proposal, but I did.

Dressed in pure white silk I walked down an aisle boarded in the colour of blood. Red, the shade of violence and so fittingly his colour. It still brings a smile to my face when in mind's eye I see him in a black suit, hair down and fresh faced. Now I have two rings on my fourth finger and the permanent image of their shocked faces seared into my mind. When they finally realized this wasn't some elaborate hoax but a very sincere reality. Only Gon appeared to be genuinely happy for me, although that being said, the whole situation of Hisoka getting married seemed to go over his sweet little head.

Hisoka is mine, I can say that without any doubt. I belong to him just as much as he belongs to me. Once, long ago, there was a time I was alone, exiled because of what I was capable of. Now a facade of cuts and bruises litter my skin and a condescending smirk adorns my face. Another battle won, another battle lost. They say eyes are the windows to the soul but if that's true then mine are all boarded up. He will never see my tears, he shall never know how weak I truly am. Nor how it breaks my heart when skin connects and blood flows. But I'll play pretend, after all I'm good at that game.

"Of course he loves me. He did marry me." It's always the same answer to the same questions. I'm not lying but I suspect they know I'm not exactly telling the truth either. I do love him, with all my being. I love everything about him from his sadism to his arrogance. From his unpredictability to his possessive nature. He loves my strength, how resilient I am. He loves how I'm untouchable and the way I look surrounded by the blood of vanquished foe. He loves how I manifest into a monster. But he does not love me. Thus I try to suppress the hope that wells up inside, after seeing his small smiles when he's convinced I'm not looking. The subtle actions when he assumes I'm not paying attention and the gentle touches when he believes I'm asleep. I ignore the elation they bring in order to spare myself the inevitable pain.

Often I find myself lying awake at night, pondering this life and how it all played out. How the monster who lays by my side, the beast that shares my bed became so human in my eyes. It's strange how he's so unnaturally quiet when he sleeps, and there are times I wonder if he's actually awake, waiting for the time to strike when I finally let my guard slip. Other times I tend to wonder about what his real opinion of me is. It really is ironic how I can read his every thought and opinion about the world that surrounds us, but when it comes to me I can't glimpse even a single thread. And so only the ceiling has borne witness to my inner torment and silent weeping. Because suddenly I know, I'm alone all over again.

There is no affection in this building we call home. There is laughter, but little of it. There is frustration and boredom, anger and suspense. At times excitement but mostly there is silence. For this 'home' is often devoid of all life but my own. Empty, not unlike myself. I do not know if he is happy, I have no evidence that points either way. I can only speak for myself when I say I am not. But I am content, for now. After all I got what I wanted, should that not be enough?

So perhaps I'm a masochist or perhaps I'm an idealist. Perhaps I'm simply a fool. But, regardless, I will continue to fight and I will never let myself lose. For I know that if I give him a foothold he will take the mountain.

So I will never give him a reason to leave. I refuse to fall from treasure to trash in his eyes. If he is the king, then I will fight for the position of his queen.

And yes, perhaps I'm selfish but he's never seemed to mind. After all he's a selfish man too. I guess the hardest part will be in the end, when I finally have to accept that this is it, and all it can ever be. When the only thing that I can say about my life is that tastes so very bittersweet.


	2. His

I honestly don't know when it started. When I began to actually feel something. But at some point in time I started to look beyond her strength. Though I'll be the first to admit that her fierce power is what made her so beautiful to me. How she moves with such elegance and yet with the raw brute force that first drew me too her. She has an air about her that simply demands authority and when she fights her eyes are unreadable, her face, serene. It's in the midst of battle that she is truly breath-taking. But beyond that was a fragile human girl I never cared enough to see. For I married her because she was a monster, I made her my wife because she was indestructible. I never cared what she did or how she felt so long as we exchanged blows whenever possible, so long as fighting her made me stronger.

I've spent years trying to learn her every move, memorize her every attack to predict and parry any block, jab and kick. Yet of late I've been mesmerized by the gentle slope of her jaw and the subtle curve at the bottom of her neck. I've always known she was extremely attractive but it's taken me such an embarrassingly long time to understand that she is so much more than simply attractive. And no one has any idea how much I want to take her into my arms and kiss her senseless, just because I can. It's such a strange phenomenon that even I don't understand it. And no one can ever know how it pains me for some bizarre reason, the knowledge that I can't. Because there is none of that 'lovey-dovey' crap here, we are warriors not lovers. We're practically two strangers who live beneath a single roof.

Our life is far from perfect, we will never fit the definition. I married her for the sole purpose of eventually killing her. The only reason I put two rings on her finger was to give myself more opportunity to fight her. More opportunity for me to grow strong enough to beat her. I'll never admit it, but somehow I can no longer imagine a life without her in it alive. For now I tend to find myself watching her out the corner of my eye. And I never thought I'd be scared of anything but, more often than not, I find a distant gaze in her eyes that cannot read. A look that takes her away to places I can never understand. It reminds me how very different we are, it reminds me how her strength is not merely physical. And it's that faraway look that terrifies me so.

Over time I've learnt to appreciate the quiet moments. Where it is only the two of us, mentally exhausted from a long day doing who knows what. When the silence that covers us is shared like a warm blanket on a cold night and not a sharp and painful reminder of the distance that lies between us. Those moments are few and far between but I treasure them for they're almost peaceful. Almost enough for me to forget reality and believe that I'm not Hisoka the Magician but an ordinary man with a beautiful wife. Almost, just not quite enough.

Not so long ago, it was during one of our usual sparing matches that I chanced a brief glance at her face, only to find it stoic and closed. A far cry from the insanity and glee that graced it the first time we clashed after she became a full-fledged hunter. I'll never forget that exam, or rather I'll never forget the 'her' from the exam. She graced through it as if it was nothing more than child's play. Honestly, that's probably all it was in hindsight. Her Nen is so powerful, yet so difficult to detect that even I still don't know its true nature. Nothing apart from the overwhelming evidence that she must be a specialist. But over the past few years she's changed, she talks less, fights with less enthusiasm and goes out less. Everything less than before and yet it took too long for me to notice. It's ironic how I am known for my keen senses and observational skills but I didn't notice what was right in front of me. Maybe I subconsciously refused to pay attention because she was foreign territory. Confusing and contradictory, opposite of what I am. What I was.

She's grown cold or at the very least, apathetic. But there are times when I come home unexpectedly and her face lights up. When for once she looks genuinely happy. She smiles more on those days. It's as if for a mere few hours she takes down the walls she spent so long building and allows herself to trust me. Allows herself to see and treat me as a friend. I record those few moments in my mind so I can watch them when I'm alone in the middle of the night. She's beautiful when she sleeps. She loses the harsh and indifferent facade only when she sleeps. She's my wife and yet I cannot touch her, I cannot hold her in my arms and I cannot comfort her. I can only listen when she silently breaks apart in the dead of night. When the world becomes too heavy to bear, when her dreams turn into vivid, twisted memories and her quiet whimpers cut through the air like fractured glass. In those moments I am a coward, afraid. Afraid of what, I don't know.

Someone once asked if I loved her. I never answered. Because I don't know if I do, how can I? When I don't know what love is. The only love I've ever known was a love for battle and self-preservation. Isn't it funny? I have a beautiful, strong, intelligent wife, I have wealth and influence. Men kill to have what I have and yet I cannot even make the most of it. It seems rather bittersweet does it not?


End file.
